


Infectious Intent

by Hesitationmarx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, Good Slytherins, Halloween, Humor, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Other, Potions (Harry Potter), Revenge, Sane Tom Riddle, Transfiguration (Harry Potter), Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesitationmarx/pseuds/Hesitationmarx
Summary: Professor Dumbledore calls Marvolo, formerly Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr, by his dead name one too many times. Marvolo is frustrated, and acts accordingly.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Tom Riddle
Kudos: 14





	Infectious Intent

Tom Marvolo Riddle had, at first, assumed that his mother couldn’t have possibly been a witch. After all, she _died_. When first trying to conceptualize magic, Tom thought that being normal and mortal was the most obvious tell for not being magical, but his more recent research proves this assumption wrong, and God, Tom hates being wrong. But he’s not stupid, and as much as he hates it, he knows when to admit he was wrong and continue researching with this revelation accounted for. Therefore, Tom Marvolo Riddle swallows the fact of his filthy muggle father being his namesake—Tom Riddle Sr., honestly, it’s such a common name he’d be embarrassed for not realizing sooner, if Tom Marvolo Riddle had the time for things like “being embarrassed.”

Tom Marvolo Riddle fully intends, _expects_ , to make his own name. He’s going to be historical, and he’s going to be referred to in history books by a name he creates for himself, but he’s still in school and although he could get all of Slytherin and probably most other students to call him anything he asks, he’s busy and doesn’t want to have to fuss about too much with the professors, so in the fall of 1940, 13 year old Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr begins insisting that he be called Marvolo to all his third-year Hogwarts professors. They’re mostly agreeable.

Albus Dumbledore is not. On the Thursday of October 31st, 1940, the third year Slytherins have double Transfiguration in the afternoon directly before the Halloween feast.

“And as it is a holiday, I think we can afford to take a break from synthetic to organic object transfiguration, although I hope I need not remind you you’ve an essay due on the subject Tuesday? Oh course, of course,” Professor Dumbledore chuckles, perfectly aware but unbothered that roughly a quarter of his class is pointedly not impressed.

In the front row, Marvolo glances over his shoulder and gives Cedar Avery a nearly imperceptible eye-roll. Avery smirks a little, Marvolo doesn’t move except a faint twitch of the fingers holding down a role of parchment, ready to tighten it and return it to his bag as soon as Dumbledore confirms they won’t be doing anything worth noting.

“I’ve took the liberty of growing some pumpkins,” Dumbledore points his wand to the back of the classroom and transfigures a string of wooden beads to a string of pumpkins, which separate and begin growing rapidly. Marvolo’s grip on his parchment shifts. He rolls it back up securely and slips it into his bag. “I simply wish to see what you’ll all do with them, use your imagination, and do try to use transfiguration as at least part of the process,” Dumbledore continues with a friendly smile. Dumbledore’s eyes light up slightly and make his smile read as a challenge.

Marvolo remains sitting straight and attentive, eyes focused on the left temple of the professors glasses. He’s sure he can handle the man’s subtler attempts to poke into his thoughts, but the habit of avoiding eye contact is just as easy to keep up.

“I’ll let you loose, but if anyone knows the class of transfiguration I used for the pumpkins? Rosier?”

Aspen Rosier looks at the pumpkins then back to Dumbledore, hesitating. “Growth, sir?”

“Oh very nearly,” Dumbledore says, still smiling, “two points to Slytherin, very good try, can anyone be a bit more specific? Dagon?”

Balsa Dagon pulls on a lock of her hair. “Sorry sir, I didn’t catch what you grew them from—unless it was a conjuring?”

“Oh, insightful, Ms. Dagon, indeed, another two points to Slytherin, happy Halloween. Unfortunately, I did happen to grow them from something, any takers before I ruin the mystery and the opportunities for house points by explaining myself?”

Marvolo gives some of his remaining classmates a disappointed glance before answering. “Refined organic material to organic vegetable, moderate complexity, with added growth via vegetable life cycle,” he pauses and flicks his gaze to meet the professor’s just for a moment, “I believe that’s the full specified class, the wood showed briefly in the vegetable growth pattern, but not pronounced enough to classify as lingering material base during the life cycle.”

“Exactly! Well said, ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Riddle—”

“Marvolo,” Marvolo snaps, before gathering himself and amending, “I go by Marvolo, sir. I’ve no connection to the name Riddle, as I’m sure you remember.”

“My apologies, Tom,” Dumbledore answers, and Marvolo might be paranoid but he knows at this moment that he’s correct in thinking the professor doesn’t misunderstand, but is intentionally pushing him.

“Just Marvolo, sir. You’ll recall my relationship to the name Tom is no different.” His eyes flash as he flicks his gaze to meet the professor’s for another moment. Marvolo is distinctly not amused, and is running through ways he could transfigure a pumpkin to seriously piss off the professor without his motives being obvious. He wants to turn it into a venomous animal, but Dumbledore has seen too much of his work to believe that he doesn’t know the properties of a species he conjures. Well, he’s not a Slytherin for nothing—it’d be a shame not to take the current opportunity, but there’s no reason not to use this pumpkin silliness as one part of a longer scheme…

\----

The scheme, as usual, is flawless. The only independent variable not controlled by Marvolo is that Professor Dumbledore has to touch the pumpkin, which Marvolo assures he will by encasing his artfully transfigured pumpkin in its original skin, inscribed with: 

' _A well designed Trick does not waste its energy by showing itself whilst unobserved: Hold me, Professor, and see!_ ’

Marvolo casts the modified inverse of the illusion charm he’d used to make the pumpkin appear as itself, causing his transfigured product to show itself as a sepia-tone mirage overlaying the inactive form. The vegetable is replaced by a perfectly articulated human skull, and as Marvolo edges the charm through the time sequence held in the active form, a ghostly serpent weaves its way around the skull and finishes with its head coming out of its mouth, jaw opening, and phantom fangs piercing the hands of whomever holds the form.

Perfect. Professor Dumbledore will have to hold the form for the entirety of the active sequence in order to observe it all, and the stupidly curious Professor won’t be able to keep from observing the full extent of Marvolo’s work. And the serpent— _shade Nagini,_ Marvolo whispers, in soft parseltongue that can pass as a sigh, _shade of my darling Nagini, will you respond as your Original would when faced by the old man?_

_Yess, masster_ , the shade answers, directly into Marvolo’s mind. Her voice is a tinny replica of the voice of his familiar (who is, at the moment, sleeping under a conjured ball of light on his bed in the dungeons).

Marvolo takes advantage of the chaotic classroom and, knowing he isn’t being watched, _grins_ down at the translucent snake. Were he being observed, anyone to see the grin would become distinctly uncomfortable and probably suspicious. He doesn’t generally let emotions contort his face, but this shade, _his_ conjured echo of Nagini, won’t use it against him. After all, _Nagini_ never has.

The intent laced into the replica-Nagini’s venom is, thankfully, something Marvolo had already perfected whilst studying NEWT level potions in his free time. The temporary non-corporality of the potion is, admittedly, one of Marvolo’s more experimental works, when compared to others he’s turned in during classes. However, he’s checked and re-checked the alchemical integrity of the original potion, and he’s checked and re-checked and checked a third time (at least) every aspect of its transfiguration. And, of course, before brewing and storing the potion as a potentially useful item, he calculated and tested every possible contingency in which the infused mind-magics and modified memory charms might corrupt or be corrupted by the base potion. Marvolo considers himself a perfectionist, but let it never be said that fear of failure biased his actions: the 98% tested accuracy of the infectious intent potion combined with the 97% tested accuracy or the touch-dependent time-delayed release of his sustained transfiguration back into corporality—well, it gives him barely over a 95% chance of success, but he’s absolutely doing this anyway.

The thing with potions it that while they don’t obey the muggle laws of physics, there is a conservation of magic requisite which resembles the principle of conservation of energy. (Marvolo only attended muggle primary school until age 11, but he did make the most of it. His greed for science texts might have played into the theory he's Satan Incarnate, but that's been the presiding theory regardless.) So when professor Slughorn shows off with potions intended to make his class gasp in awe and, presumably, direct more enthusiasm to their lessons, Marvolo observes and takes careful notes. And when, in Defense class, the professor lets slip something that sounds suspiciously to Marvolo like mind control, he observes and takes careful notes. And when, in Charms class, that professor goes on a tangent about tampering with one’s memories (in the context of why they absolutely should not attempt it, but that’s far from the point)—then, too, Marvolo observes and takes careful notes.

It’s so obvious that Marvolo has to remind himself twice that his peers are useless side characters and their idiocy isn’t his problem, just to keep himself from sighing audibly enough to draw attention. To incorporate other branches of magic into potion making, a witch need only utilize those spells on the creature whose innate magical energy is to be used as ingredient to the potion. Obviously, the drawback to studying this as a student is the necessity of a human target for some of the more interesting magics one might wish to infuse into their potion, but Marvolo isn’t a Slytherin for nothing, and (regardless of public opinion the primary trait of a true Slytherin will always be resourcefulness. Using a witch for ingredients will be tedious to cover up, but witches aren’t the only fully conscious magical species at his disposal.

Marvolo tested his first Infectious Intent potion on a Slytherin sixth year (who has no right to call themselves a Slytherin, anyway—destroying that damned hat is on his short list of things to retcon as Lord of Magical Britain). It seems, at least according to all current evidence, that a combination of even amateur Legilimency and a sufficient Obliviation charm cast on a Centaur, Goblin, House Elf, Merperson, or magical being of similar intelligence, (as well as the same by a Parselmouth on a Runespoor, Ashwinder, Horned Serpent, etc), can serve as a sufficient ingredient, given at least a gram of their flesh, blood, and bone are used in the potion.

The feeling of Albus Dumbledore’s sharp, glittery gaze on his back startles Marvolo out of the mental review of all his research. The apparition of himself whose expressions don’t affect the real Marvolo’s face curls his lips in a malevolent sneer. He’s not reckless enough to attempt to get into the Professor’s mind without being noticed—Dumbledore is far more practiced in mind magics—but being in such close proximity to the target of his potion is still incredibly useful: Marvolo focuses on the feeling of Albus Dumbledore’s magical aura, the crawling sensation of it against his own, and the culmination (of just this hour’s worth) of resentment. He keeps a benign disinterested smile on his face as he channels the product into the temporarily corporeal vial of Infectious Intent which feeds into shade-Nagini’s venom, holding his wand loosely as if just thinking.

Project complete, Marvolo gazes down at his now-ordinary-looking pumpkin, and were anyone looking they’d see a cold twinkle in his eyes not unlike a malevolent mirror of his professor’s. Albus Dumbledore is not looking; Marvolo knew he wouldn't be.Marvolo isn’t concerned about the effectiveness of his creation—after all, he prototyped the Infectious Intent venom years ago, and Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop haven’t spoken a word against him since.

\----

After class has ended, and nearly everyone is at the Halloween feast, Marvolo is sitting with Nagini in a hidden room he’s yet to mentally name. October 31st always gives him a vague sense of dread-mixed-with-deja-vu, so he’s taken to avoiding the festivities. At first, he thought it was a response to having been regarded as “possessed by Satan” by all the other children and nearly all of the adults while growing up, but the memory doesn’t quite fit. He’ll look into it, eventually, if the strange sense of doom surrounding Halloween persists. For now, he’s cross legged on the floor of a (class?)room that’s only accessible every other Thursday, with Nagini draped over his shoulders like a scarf, and looking at him as if she’s the caretaker in this relationship.

_Masster, you are anticipating?_ Nagini asks in what can only be perceived as a concerned sort of hiss.

(Marvolo is, at this point, used to the strange syntax of Parseltongue, but her question still seems to have an ambiguous focus). _I await our revenge on Old Man_ , Marvolo answers, _and I sense the unknown thing, of this date, which may be not there_.

_Thing which may be not there!_ Nagini hisses, managing to sound amused, _if master was of Superior Kind, would not have not-there-human-feeling_!

_Have told you, will learn transformation to Superior Kind after finding of Salazar’s Chamber_ , he responds, shortly but with much more warmth than he’s ever honestly used with another human. _Priority, Nagini, and patience_.

_Patience? I am not one anticipating_ , Nagini answers. If she had eyelids, Marvolo is sure she’d be narrowing her eyes mischievously.

He unfolds his legs and lays down on the floor of his every-other-Thursday-room, absently running a finger along Nagini’s scales and pointedly directing his ming towards the variety of amusing ways his Infection might influence Dumbledore, and _not_ towards the fact even the witches think he’s the Devil and his only semi-intelligent conversation partner is a snake.

By the time Marvolo exits the sometimes-room, all thoughts of vague impending doom or being a Demon Child are so carefully Occluded from his conscious mind that, short of deliberate self-interrogation, he won’t even notice them until something triggers them as ‘relevant.’ He makes his way to the dungeons, and draws the curtains around his bed before summoning Deagol, an elf who (while technically property of Headmaster Dippet) he’s formed a sort of rapport with. After sending Deagol to fetch him some toast, Marvolo catalogues the strange impulse he gets in the presence of the elf as somehow similar to the vague doom surrounding Halloween—he knows, on some intuitive level he’s still unsure if he trusts, that the elf is to be one of the many sacrificed for his immortality. The thought doesn’t hold any particular weight or urgency, though, so he ignores it, accepts the toast when Deagol returns, and sits against his headboard, trying to focus on a Magical Theory text.

\----

The next afternoon, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore finishes his Third Year Transfiguration grading, chuckling to himself at the sheer devotion of one of his top students to their particular aesthetic. A skull and a snake, honestly, he’d not be surprised if by next year Tom had a logo. _Teenagers_ , Albus sighs, fondly, and then narrows his eyes as the name of the student he’s been pondering slips his mind. He can picture the boy: cold, dark eyes and neat dark hair; blank-faced, and with an air of maturity that doesn’t match his thirteen year old body; not taller than his peers, but holding an aura of confidence and leadership that makes him seem to stand above them—but what in Merlin’s hat is the boy named?

Albus shakes his confusion off, heading to the staff room for a cup of cocoa, and is greeted by a Sixth Year Ravenclaw student he’s sure he knows—but her name entirely escapes him. He opens his mouth to bid her good afternoon, and says “time past top-sun of day, girl my student child, well and harmless to you!”

The girl gives him a strange look, but continues on her way, and Albus considers that something odd might be going on. After reaching the staff room and greeting his fellow professors with “ah my yes also instructing masters magical subcategories of, benevolent is my recognition pertaining to you, and too of our miniature friends in learning,” Albus admits to himself that something odd is definitely going on.

He’s almost sure it’s due to that one student he first tried and failed to name, but the concepts blur themselves in the deconstructed language of his thoughts, and he has to take a seat.

**Author's Note:**

> Being the hopeless nerd I am, I've (of course) outlined the steps and specific requirements to Marvolo's Transfiguration project and the potion it relies on. The relevant theorems, axioms, & laws/proofs of the magical continuities I'm operating within, as well as the specific effects of the potion on Albus, I'll likely transcribe if only to send to my mother (brilliant Hufflepuff scientist Scorpio ANGEL). Whether I post any of it will be entirely dependent on my mood.
> 
> xox Charli/Hesitationmarx


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